


Birds with Broken Wings

by pugnacious



Series: Two's Company [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games), Titanfall (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Gen, but mostly mirage being a dumbass, mutual dumbasses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugnacious/pseuds/pugnacious
Summary: Bloodhound shows up, and Mirage never wanted to earn someone’s approval so badly before.The hunter has never wanted to stab anyone as much as they want to stab Mirage. At least, that’s what he imagines.





	Birds with Broken Wings

Everyone who watched the Apex Games knew of Bloodhound.

Elliott first learned about the Legend while he was still bartending. He eavesdropped on a couple of girls sitting at the bar while he was busy mixing drinks as they discussed the hunter. 

He often liked to listen in to see if he could contribute something and ease his way into the conversation, anytime he saw someone cute that he wanted to talk to (maybe take home later, if he was lucky enough), but this time, he was engrossed by the anecdotes about Bloodhound.

He knew about the Games, of course - they played it on the screens all the time, and it stirred up a lot of conversation - but he was always so busy working that he never paid it any attention or gave it much thought. To him, it sounded like a bunch of idiots who wanted to get rich and famous quick or die trying.

But Bloodhound was different.

The mysterious newcomer, a masked hunter who appeared out of nowhere and slaughtered their way to the top, had just won their third game in a row and was quickly gaining popularity. They tracked squads through the forest like a wolf stalks its prey, until every last contender was lying on the dirt in a pool of their own blood. They refused to do interviews, never talked to anyone after the games, just blended back into the shadows until the next fight.

They were the best big game hunter in the Outlands and a rising star in the Games, yet no one knew their name, what they looked like, or where they were from, and rumors spread like wildfire.

Elliott thought it was a waste of fame, and he had no qualms about butting into their chat to tell them so.

That was what led him down the rabbit hole.

Elliott offered them free drinks (paid out of his own pocket) in exchange to hear more about Bloodhound and the Apex Games, and they talked late into the night until the girls decided they were too drunk to stick around. 

It was nothing like what he assumed - which was something along the lines of a buncha people getting into a massive drunken bar fight with guns (although, honestly, it wasn’t that far off) - but a challenge that required a lot of skill, fortitude, and, perhaps most important of all, a hell of a lotta luck. 

After that, Elliott kept an eye on the screens and chatted up anyone who was willing to talk about it. He watched every game, all the interviews, reviews, expositions, what have you. He’d speculate with others on who would become the next Legend (Bloodhound, of course) and place bets on who would win that night (always on Bloodhound). He was enamoured with idea of becoming an Apex Legend.

Bloodhound continued to climb through the ranks, and Elliott kept a close eye on them, watching every battle, taking mental notes and hoping he could learn a thing or two.

When he wasn’t working at the bar, he babbled about it to his mother constantly.

She always listened, nodding along as she leaned over her desk to tinker on some new holo tech in the tiny workshop that was once the living room of their home. It was crowded with machines and wires hooked into outlets, cabinets filled with tools and his mother’s old engineering textbooks that he had pored over many times when he was younger.

Elliott sat cross-legged on the workbench, a habit he started as a child and refused to break, idly watching the Games on his phone as he passed her gadgets from the toolbox when she asked for them.

“These three idiots won with only one kill between them!” Elliott gestured toward the screen. “I could’ve done better than that. I should compete in the games,” he grumbled for what was probably the hundredth time since his obsession began, scowling with his head resting on his hand as he watched the crowd cheer for the newest champions.

“It’s a stupidly insane risk,” she told him for the millionth.

“I know,” he said.

Of course he knew - sixty people enter a ring full of guns and only three get out alive, if all three are lucky. He wasn’t  _ that  _ much of an idiot. “But I’m not afraid.”

He wasn’t afraid to die, at least. He was cocky, so full of confidence that he thought he could cheat death and be one of the lucky winners using methods and strategies that would guarantee easy wins - that’s what he thought to himself, anyways.

And, more importantly, his three older brothers, all skilled riflemen and Pilots-in-training, taught him everything he knew about combat. If they could win battles in a massive war, then why couldn’t he win something as simple as this?

There were no Pilots zipping through the air, no armies of Titans and other robots with guns (except for that one MRVN he saw running around, but it wasn’t much different from anyone else), or infantry ready to call in backup. It was just a few dozen humans on foot, and humans were predictable. 

What he  _ was  _ afraid of was his mother childless, alone with no family.

The fathers of his siblings had left long before Elliott was even born, and he sure as hell didn’t except his own dad to show his face again. His mother didn’t even know what happened to the rest of her family. 

His brothers had disappeared one by one over the course of the war - missing in action, as they were officially labeled. He didn’t think for one second that they were still alive. All she had left was him.

But he would never tell her that.

She brushed back the loose hairs that had fallen from her messy ponytail. Her long, once black hair had slowly turned grey years ago. “It’s not about fear.”

“I know, I know, but imagine!” he swept his arms out wide. “We could get off this heap of a rock and go back to Harmony. Or hell, even Earth, if the IMC ever clear out of there within our lifetime.”

It would take a very long time to earn enough money for that, even if he managed to win several Games. What they actually needed the money for was to pay the bills.

His mother wasn’t earning anywhere near what she should have been from her holo tech creations, and even with three fewer mouths to feed and Elliott working full time, they struggled to get by. The Frontier Militia gave what they could, but it wasn’t enough to make a living.

He would never tell her that either, but he didn’t need to.

“I just,” he sighed and fidgeted with the phone in his hands. “I always dreamed we’d leave this place to find somewhere better, and not have to worry anymore.” She deserved so much more than this.

“Well,” she clicked the pieces of a black, circular device together and handed it to him, “who am I to stop you?”

She tapped a few keys on her keyboard and the holographic image of Elliott flickered in front of him, clad in the same dirty jeans and old shirt he was wearing now.

“Hey, it’s me!” Elliott grinned, and the hologram returned the favor.

“I’ve been working on these for awhile,” his mother picked up a small metal box from the floor, placed it on the table, and released the hatch. Inside were more of the circular devices, attached to leather straps and sitting on top of more fabric. “Custom holo devices, motion activated, with an invisibility cloak added for good measure.”

The hologram flickered out of existence as she took the device back from him and added it the collection. “I snagged Jaxon’s old Pilot suit from the armory and patched it up as best I could.” The bright yellow one with black armor, the same armor Elliott once defaced with markers and stickers, just to piss his brother off.

She placed the box in Elliot's hands. “You’ve talked about joining the Games so much. If your dream is to become an Apex Legend, then I think you should follow it.”

He stared at the gift and tears welled in his eyes. He never expected to  _ actually _ participate in games, despite all his yapping over it, and yet here was his mom, telling him to follow his dreams.

He gently set the box on the table, hopped down and wrapped his mother in a bone-crushing hug, repeatedly mumbling  _ thank you _ into her shoulder as she laughed at the absurdity of it all.

With her blessing, he entered the Apex Games.

___

Elliott fidgeted and readjusted the straps of his armor for what was probably the twelfth time in a row.

Waiting for the ship that would take him and the rest of the contenders to the site of the next Apex Games was making him antsy, and his anxiety was growing with each passing minute.

His mom, of course, had gone and told everyone she knew that her son was going to compete. They all showed their support, surprisingly - whether it was because they believed he was capable of winning, or out of pity because they thought he would die, he wasn’t sure. He sure as hell didn’t want pity, but he had soaked up the praise and encouragement regardless.

He wished he had his phone with him now, anything to distract himself from his own thoughts, but they had taken it already. Outside communication devices were strictly forbidden in the ring, all they could bring were the headsets they provided.

The guy next to him, Dominic, nudged him with an elbow. “Stop squirming, you're making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” Elliott mumbled and tried to shove his hands in his pockets before realizing he didn't have any and opted to grab his belt instead.

Dom was always nervous, even without Elliott there. He couldn’t help but fret and worry about the most insignificant things, and probably never relaxed a day in his life. Yet, he never let his fears it get in the way of doing his job.

Unlike Elliott, who had far more panic attacks throughout his life than he would  _ ever _ admit. It was the reason he was so hesitant to join the Frontier Militia. Knowing himself, he'd probably end up freaking out and gasping for air on the floor before some important mission and get discharged for it.

Of course, you’d never know it from the way Elliott presented himself. He hide everything behind a persona, full of energy and confidence, like he had no fear and nothing could hurt him.

Most of the time. But when it came to Bloodhound, he slipped up.

On his other side stood Yumiko, who normally had a smile plastered on her face, but now it was just a scowl. Probably thinking about how her Titan was holding up. HT-5407, or Hotshot, as Yumi liked to call her, had a mean streak like an ornery guard dog and wasn't the most well behaved when her Pilot left.

His new squadmates were old friends of his brothers, back when they were all working to become Pilots. He had watched them train many times, scaling the Pilot gauntlets with ease and grace or nailing headshots in the shooting range. He even got to ride in Hotshot for a little bit, which sealed the deal for his dream to become a Pilot one day too (and was dashed after his brothers disappeared).

If Elliott could fight even half as well as his brothers, he'd breeze through the games without a problem, they said. 

He really doubted it. Whereas they had real experience in combat, he had nothing but a few simulations and what his brothers taught him. He would never match Yumiko's skill, especially - she was double his age, had fought in the Frontier War, and was still going strong.

But hopefully what he knew was enough.

And if nothing else, he could always be the distraction. He was real good at being the center of attention, and anyone who met him knew it within a minute.

“Stay sharp, you two,” Yumiko flashed them a grin, but he could see worry etched on her face as she looked at him. Maybe her Titan wasn't the only thing she was concerned about. “Dropship's comin’ in.”

The same ship Elliott had watched a thousand times on screen descended from the clouds, landing with a thump and extending a ramp, and contestants began to shuffle onboard.

The sight made his chest ache. He wasn't watching some TV show now, he was really going to go through with this.

“You okay?” Yumiko asked.

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Elliott smiled and waved a hand dismissively. Compulsively lying about his own wellbeing must be in his blood. “Totally fine. Not even worried. As long as we’re not fighting against-”

His breath hitched in his throat.

Striding towards them as the crowd parted was the hunter, armor stained dark red with blood, with their jet black raven settled on its spot on their shoulder who cawed madly at anyone who got too close.

“Wha- w- we- we're fighting  _ Bloodhound _ ?”

His face must've had a look of pure, utter horror because Bloodhound stared at him with their head canted the side as they silently walked past. The soulless eyes of that mask scared the  _ shit _ outta him.

The  _ one person _ he didn't want to fight. His throat tightened and his breath quickened, and he was struck with an animalistic urge to bolt out of there.

The three of them didn't stand a chance. He really, truly was going to die.

It wasn't too late to back out-

“We're fine, dude,” Dom smacked him on the arm, snapping Elliott out of his panicked thoughts. “They just got back from a game. Lucky us.”

It was then that he realized the hunter was walking  _ away _ from the ship as they were trailed by paparazzi, their camera drones flashing like fireworks around them.

Above, the banners displayed their stats for that game: 17 out of the 21 total kills their squad claimed. Typical. 

Elliott closed his eyes and released a long sigh, letting himself sink to the floor onto his back with his arms spread wide.

“Wake me up when we win the game,” he mumbled. 

___

All that training paid off in the end.

He won his first game - they didn’t die!

Of course, his squad did most of the work, as he expected, but he wasn’t gonna complain. He had become the newest Champion of the Apex Games, and an instant favorite of the crowd. Charmed by his stunning personality, he’d say. He ate up the attention like it was candy and strutted like a peacock to his new fans. The money, he sent straight home to his mother. 

Yumiko and Dominic decided one game was enough for a lifetime, so he was left to scramble for a new team - which, what a surprise, most people didn’t like to gamble their lives in exchange for money, especially the other Pilots he knew, who liked to think they had more integrity than that (or, more likely, they were just sick of war but refused to admit it).

With no teammates to join him and a brand-spanking-new reputation to uphold, he decided to risk another game with a random squad. Lo and behold, he won that too.

A few games later, he ended up in a squad with Bangalore, and he thanked the heavens that he didn’t have to fight her because he absolutely would have died. She had far more experience, both in war and in the Apex Games, and they won that game without a hitch.

At her request, he joined her unofficial band of misfits that she thought were good enough to become Legends - she said something about seeing potential in him, despite how much he acted like an idiot. He was offended and proud at the same time. Under her guidance, he climbed the ranks and became an Apex Legend.

He was so caught up in his newfound fame that Bloodhound slipped out of his mind, until the interviews began to asked how he would feel if he had to face the hunter in the ring, but he brushed it off like it was nothing, he could take on anyone, no problem.

Deep down, he was afraid, deathly afraid, but he shoved that fear into the back of his mind and didn’t think about it. He had far more important things to worry about, he convinced himself. 

So when Elliott opened the door into the common room to find Bloodhound standing in front of him, the raven squawking at him from its spot on their shoulder, he thought he was about to die. 

Eliminating the competition before the games even started.

Karma catching up to him for all the misdeeds of his past. Or for his stupidity, probably.

But Bloodhound just looked at him, head tilted like that curious bird of theirs, probably wondering why he was standing there looking like a startled deer about to be mowed down by a car.

Elliott immediately shut the door and bolted down the hall.

He knew it was pointless, he couldn't hide from the hunter, but his mind was filled with nothing but fear and destroying his rationality.

He screamed like he was being murdered when Bloodhound reappeared in front of him within seconds of his departure. He slammed into them and fell backward, and his pride shattered when he hit the ground.

He covered his face with his hands and groaned, hoping they would end him and his embarrassment quickly. When nothing happened, he peeked through his fingers to see them towering over him, arms crossed. The raven, still perched on their shoulder, bobbed its head and croaked.

“Don’t run from me.”

“I’m sorry, please don’t murder me,” Elliott mumbled through his hands and instantly regretted saying it. In hindsight, they probably  _ weren't _ here just to kill him and he was just being a big dumb idiot, as usual. 

Bloodhound let out a chuckle, a smooth laugh that was pleasant to Elliott's ears. He decided it was definitely a sound he wanted to hear again, and for a moment, he forgot how much he was afraid.

They reached down and grabbed Elliott’s arm, pulling him to his feet without prompt, which he was kind of glad about because if they had offered a hand, he would have been too ashamed to take it.

“I am not here to  _ slatra _ . Bangalore requested that I join your team.”

Elliott looked at them like he’d been smacked upside the head. “Really?” he squeaked.

“Yes, really. You are Mirage, correct?”

“Y-yeah,” he fiddled with his armor, just trying to distract himself. “You-you’re Bloodhound.”

“Indeed,” they nodded once. “I’ve heard much about you. Perhaps one day soon, we shall fight alongside each other.” They patted his shoulder and he flinched away from the touch, before they walked off to leave him alone in the empty hallway. 

“Yeah. Sure,” he said after a moment, to no one.

He turned around and took a few steps before his shaking legs buckled under him, but he picked himself back up nonchalantly and walked off like nothing had happened.

___

Elliott rarely saw Bloodhound in person again after that.

Anita said it was because they never actually stayed in the city much. Instead, they would wander into the nearby alien forest and disappear for days on end, until she called them back for a sparring match or to join them for another game or what have you.

How someone could possibly think living alone in the untamed wild, known for its hostile fauna, was preferable to a place with walls and indoor plumbing was beyond him. If it were him, he’d probably get eaten alive by some hungry creature, or starve to death, whichever came first.

But there was a damn good reason Bloodhound was known as the greatest big game hunter in the Outlands. Living in a forest came with the job description, he supposed.

Once in a while, he would spot them walking down the hallway before they disappeared around a corner or enter their assigned room. Other times they would be sitting somewhere, and he’d stand in the doorway, debating whether he should try to strike up a conversation or run away, until Bloodhound inevitably glanced at him like a wide-eyed owl and he turned tail like the coward he was.

Today was unusual - he found Bloodhound on the roof of the skyscraper they had been stationed at, sitting cross-legged on the ledge with their back to him. It was quiet up there, high enough that the city noises weren’t distracting, and landscape was painted orange by the two setting suns that twirled in the sky.

Elliott swallowed his fear and walked up to them. They were teammates now, so they should learn to get along, right?

He stopped behind them and peered over their shoulder. The raven was nestled in the crook of their arm and in their lap lay an enormous, aging book written in a language he couldn’t understand. They were slowly petting the bird with one hand, pausing every so often to turn another page.

It was so strange to see the hunter like this.

Before now, he had only seen them afar from a screen, stalking foes like a predator, fighting bloody battles and shouting curses in Icelandic.

He never thought he’d see them sitting so still and quietly. As if at peace with the world and everything in it.

Bloodhound just ignored him, though he had no doubt they knew he was there. Too absorbed in whatever story they were reading.

Or maybe they just didn’t give a damn. Either way. 

“What’re you reading?” he asked.

“A book,” they deadpanned.

Elliott smirked. “Oh, so you’re the snarky type.”

“Occasionally, when I’m being disturbed, yes.”

His smile faded.

“Okay, fine,” he held his hands up in surrender. Not that they had even looked up from their book. “I was just trying to be a supportive teammate and have a friendly chat on the rare occru- occur- occu-” he paused and closed his eyes to collective himself, “on the one time you decided not to hide from everyone.”

Elliott nearly jumped out of his skin when Bloodhound slammed the book shut and the bird took flight, cawing. They stood and jumped down the from the ledge with the book tucked under their arm, and the raven reclaimed its spot on their shoulder.

He shrunk back, afraid that he’d said the wrong thing and was about to pay for it.

The light from the sunset bathed them in crimson and lit the eyes of their mask blood red as they gazed at him. Like the beast of the hunt readying for the kill, as Elliott had seen them do so many times in the ring. It terrified him and he had to look away.

“I am to join Bangalore and Wraith for another game soon,” they said, as calmly as ever. “I read to pass the time until then. I do not enjoy the city.” They looked off towards the horizon, as if reminiscing how much they missed the wilds already.

Elliott released the breath he’d been holding in a short sigh, relieved he wasn’t in trouble, though he could still feel a tightening in his chest. “I can tell from how much time you spend in that stupid forest.”

“Yes. It is quiet there. And people do not disturb me.” They glanced back at him as they said it, making Elliott wish he’d left as soon as he found them.

He opened his mouth to retort, but they left without waiting for his response, a good thing considering that he was probably about to say more stupid things.

He sat down on the ledge of the building and watched the suns until the sky grew black and the city lit up like a flame, thinking that he should have just kept his damn mouth shut.

__-

Elliott found Bloodhound in the training rooms more than anywhere else.

Sometimes they were at the shooting range, other times they were sparring with another contender, which usually ended up one of the Legends because everyone else was too chicken to fight them. 

Anita made it her new life goal to kick Bloodhound’s ass in a fight one of these days, but she could never best the hunter. None of them could, and most had given up trying.

Bloodhound was faster and stronger than most, and even when they weren’t, they always knew how to find your weakness and use it against you. Makoa, overconfident that he’d finally be the one to beat ‘em thanks to his sheer size and strength, learned that the hard way.

Wraith and Pathfinder were the only exceptions.

Wraith could keep pace with them no problem. Probably something to do with those voices in her head always telling her things, but she wouldn't talk about it much. 

And Pathfinder, on the other hand, didn't feel pain, had inhuman reflexes, and knew, down to the math, how to be unpredictable. Even Bloodhound couldn't beat that. But the only way to convince him to a sparring match was to confront him, and pretty much no one wanted to do that - either because they thought he was too much of a sweetheart to fight or were too creeped out by that perpetual smiley face on his chest. Definitely the latter.

Elliott was the only one who never even bothered to try to fight Bloodhound.

He knew he’d lose instantly, as much as he hated to admit it. He had a hard enough time trying to beat any of the other Legends,  _ especially _ when he was without his decoys, and he'd been told enough times that he shouldn't rely on them in a fight that he stopped bringing them to the gym

Which is why he was wearing a yellow t-shirt and black track pants instead of his usual duds. He had walked into the gym with the intention of training with Anita, as they usually did, only to find her and the hunter already in the ring, fighting like they were trying to break each other's necks, and he was stuck watching from the sidelines, waiting for them to finish.

Bloodhound was clad in their signature leather outfit and mask, but lacked the metal armor they brought with them into the Games, while Anita was in a tank top and leggings. Without layers to protect themselves, it made defense a lot more important, and Anita looked like she was gonna end up with a lot of nasty bruises from all the kicks and punches getting thrown at her. He was really happy it wasn’t him in there.

The longer the match dragged on, the more his mind began to wander off. He liked to watch, it was a great learning experience, but he had the attention span of a goldfish and that made concentrating difficult.

Of course this thoughts had drifted to Bloodhound. 

He had barely talked to them for more than five minutes since they officially met each other, and he felt like he already screwed something up. He had a knack for annoying people who refused to put up with his bullshit. It wouldn't surprise him if Bloodhound didn't like him. 

“Mirage.”

Elliott snapped out of his reverie with a jolt.

He hadn't realized Bloodhound was standing in front of him. Anita was nowhere to be seen. “Y-yeah?”

“Bangalore has stepped out for a moment.” They inclined their head towards the middle of the room. “Care for a match?”

“NO!” He panicked, then tried to backtrack. “I- I mean I, I would  _ like  _ to but I just-”

“It is good to challenge yourself,” they cut him off.

Elliott rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeeeeah, of course, but-”

“No excuses.” Bloodhound reached behind him and shoved him to the center of the ring, and he stumbled forward.

When he righted himself and turned around, Bloodhound charged at him.

“WAIT!” Elliott held his arms out in front of him.

They grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back and shoved him to the ground.

Instantly lost, just as he predicted. He didn’t even get a chance to react. They were too strong for him to break free of their grasp, and the muscles in his arm strained painfully in the hold.

“Mercy, mercy!” Elliott whimpered and Bloodhound released him, standing back up.

“You must put up a fight,  _ félagi _ .”

“I didn’t even want to do this, you're the one who roped me into it,” Elliott grumbled to himself as he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe if he pouted and stayed on the floor, they’d give up and leave him alone.

A caw echoed from the rafters and their raven floated down from its perch above and onto Bloodhound’s outstretched arm, and they began to pet it.

He eyed the raven. “Are you from Earth?”

They looked down at him. “What makes you ask?”

Avoiding the question. Of course. 

“Ravens are from Earth, and you've always got a ton of them following you around.”

“Observant. Not many people recall that ravens descend from the same planet as we did, anymore.” They stroked the bird down its head and back and it closed its eyes. “But it is only one raven, not many. Other birds just like to congregate around him.”

“What’s his name?”

They paused. The hand that had been petting the bird fell to their side. For a moment, he thought they would leave without answering. Again.

“Arthur.”

“...Seriously?” Elliott sat up and leaned his arms on his knees. “Out of all the names you could've  _ possibly _ named him, you picked that?”

The raven hopped down their arm and perched upon their shoulder, and with their limbs now free, they crossed their arms. “I like it. It is a good name.”

“I was expecting something badass like, I dunno, Muninn, or Thor. Don't think Arthur suits him.”

“I didn't ask for your thoughts!” they snapped and Elliott flinched, shielding his face with his hands.

“S-sorry, sorry! It-it's- I didn't- I meant-”

Bloodhound sighed and waved a hand dismissively, shutting him up. “It's fine. You're certainly not the first person to express such thoughts. I've just grown tired of hearing it.”

“Sorry,” Elliott mumbled again and tapped his fingers on his knees. He yelped when Bloodhound grabbed him by the forearm and yanked him to his feet.

The hunter readied their stance as the raven took flight. “Try again?”

Elliott backed up, his hands held up in surrender. “Yeah, so, I just realized I have a thing to do, so I'm- I'm gonna go do that thing.” 

He swiveled around and bolted for the door without looking back. He really,  _ really _ didn't to get his ass kicked by Bloodhound twice in one day.

He half-expected them to yell at him for being a coward or tackle him from behind, but he made it through the door and slammed it behind him without incident.

He leaned against the wall and for a second, reconsidered going back - not because he  _ wanted _ to fight them, but because it was a good opportunity to build up their trust, which he so desperately craved.

“Hey, Elliott!” He flinched.

Anita was waving at him from down the hall, water bottle in hand and a towel wrapped around her neck. “You ready-”

“Don't feel well,” he muttered as he pushed off the wall and drifted past her, his head down, refusing to meet her eyes. He hated to abandon her like this, but there was no way he could face Bloodhound again after all that.

Rather than deal with his problems, he just added this to the long list of fuckups throughout his life and walked off with his hands in his pockets, too anxious and humiliated to go back.

___

“Mirage.”

The man was leaning on the table with his head in his arms. He didn’t stir, just kept snoring.

Arthur fluttered down from Bloodhound's shoulder to the table, hopped on top of Elliott's head and took a moment to smooth his ruffled feathers with his beak before he nipped at Elliott's ear.

He jerked upright and screamed. He flailed and tipped back in his chair, upending the table and everything on it as he crashed to the floor.

The raven returned to Bloodhound's shoulder and squawked at him, like he was cackling at Elliott’s suffering.

“Why can't,” he rolled out of the chair and stood on wobbly legs. “Why can't you show up without freaking me out for once?” He righted the table and began cleaning up the books and pencils that had fallen to the floor.

“Apologies,” Bloodhound said as they picked up one of the books, a small one with colorful stickers plastered all over the cover. Elliott froze when they began flipping through the pages.

“H-hey, that’s personal!” He scrambled to grab the book back but they turned their back to him continuously, until he gave up running circles around them. He picked his chair up off the ground and sat in it with a huff, waiting for Bloodhound to finish.

“You know, for someone who likes to be super secretive and never answer questions, you sure do like to go snooping through my stuff.”

“You draw me an  _ awful lot _ .” They sounded surprised.

Elliott felt his cheeks heat up.

It was true, his sketch book was filled to the brim with scratchy graphite drawings of them.

Sketching let him focus and stop his mind from wandering off, so he would often find himself watching the Apex Games as he filled that little notebook with notes on tactics, his own dumb musings, or doodles of whatever he was looking at, which more often than not was Bloodhound.

He'd drawn them so many times that he could easily sketch them from memory if he really wanted. 

But he stopped drawing the hunter once he met them, too afraid that they'd be furious at him if they found out.

He could never bring himself to get rid of the book, though, despite how much his mind begged him to. It was far too valuable to him.

And now he was in the very situation he had feared.

He tapped his foot and stared at the ground. “I… I just... like to draw when I'm w-watching the games ‘s all. Helps me concet- concer- helps me focus. ” He would have lied, say a friend gave him the book, if he thought he could get away with it. He should've thrown the damn thing in the trash.

“They're very good.”

That was  _ not _ the response he expected. His whole face was heating up and he had to hold himself back from burying his head in his hands. 

Bloodhound gently closed the book and held it out, and he took it with a shaking hand and held it in his lap. 

“Uh… th-thank- thanks.” He wasn't sure if he was thanking them for giving the book back or for the compliment.

“You should never stop drawing.”

Elliott gave a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I wasn't planning on quitting...”

Bloodhound nodded. “I used to draw.”

That made him perk up. “Yeah?”

“I haven't in a very long time. You don't choose to stop, it just,” they paused, shrugged their shoulders. “Happens.”

Elliott hummed in acknowledgment. He understood - there were times when he didn't draw for months for whatever reasons. But he always picked it back up. “Can't imagine you'd have time to draw much when you live in the wild.”

“Life amongst nature is mostly a quiet existence and there is plenty of time for drawing. That is not why I stopped.” They bent down and starting picking up the pencils and books and placing them back on the table.

“So what happened?”

Elliott jumped as the pencil Bloodhound was holding snapped in half when they clench their fist.

They shook their head and let the pieces drop to the floor. “Many things.”

Bad things, from the looks of it. But he managed to hold his tongue this time.

“Well, if you ask me,” he picked up another sketch book and flipped through the pages, and when he was satisfied it was blank, held it out to Bloodhound. “Once an artist, always an artist.”

Bloodhound slowly took the book and ran a gloved hand over its cover. Lime green, with a few stupid stickers he had lying around stuck on top. “You’re giving this to me?”

“Yep, it’s yours.” He tossed them a pencil and they caught it midair. “Draw something pretty in it for me.”

They nodded. “Thank you, Mirage.” 

That made him smile. Just a little.

Maybe his hopes that they could be friends one day weren’t so impossible. He’d be fooling himself if he said he believed that, but he could dream.

___

Bloodhound had a knack for materializing out of the shadows and scaring the shit out of Elliott when he thought he was alone.

Like today, when he nearly smacked into them when he rounded a corner in a hallway that was a little too dark. 

He screamed and dropped the box in his arms, which crashed to the ground and its contents scattered across the floor.

“Shit, don’t startle me like that!” Elliott knelt and began picking up the spill and returning it to the box. “These tools,” he held up one of the devices and shook it, “are delicate and expensive as hell, and I don’t have the money to replace them!” 

“Apologies,” Bloodhound said and knelt to help.

The two worked in silence for a moment, carefully stacking one item after another, before the hunter spoke up.

“I am here to ask if you would like to join me for the next game.”

“Wha- wait, what, seriously?” Elliott froze, looking at them with wide eyes.

Bloodhound cocked their head. “Does this bother you?”

“No! No, it doesn’t, I just...” he shook his head and fidgeted with the little gadget in his hands. “I didn’t think you’d want to work with me.”

“I have invited Alexander to join us as well.”

“What?” The gadget slipped out of his hands and snatched it before it could hit the ground, then gently put it back in its place. “You actually  _ like  _ that bastard?”

“He is good at what he does.”

“He’s psychotic!”

Bloodhound sighed and placed the last of the objects back in the box. “We are no better than him.”

“I never went around killing people in the name of science!” Elliott got to his feet and hefted the full box up in his arms with a grunt.

They stood and crossed their arms. “You think killing for sport is better than killing for science?”

“N-no, that’s not what- I’m not-” Elliott huffed, trying to string his thoughts together. “What about Ajay? She’s only here fund the Frontier Corps. And Makoa just wants to protect his friends.”

“There are other ways to make money that don't involve murder. And Makoa needs better friends,” they said. “Did you not join the Game for fame and fortune?”

“Yeah…” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He could go on about having better intentions or something, but what difference did it make?

He didn't want to debate philosophy anyways, especially not with Bloodhound. There were already enough people out there who questioned the morality of the Apex Games, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be one of them.

“So why are  _ you _ here?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

And there he went again, blabbering questions he knew he wouldn't get answers to because he couldn't think before speaking.

He swore he saw Bloodhound stiffen. They tapped their fingers against their arm. Were they agitated?

“I have my reasons.” They turned heel and strode away, not giving him a chance to speak. “Meet with us in the dropship before the game begins.”

Elliott was left to stand there alone and wondering when Bloodhound was finally going to put him out of his misery.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll make a one shot, I said. It'll be fun, I said.
> 
> Feedback and critique is appreciated!


End file.
